


Prompt No.5 - Gunpoint

by orphan_account



Series: Hamilton Whumptober 2019 [5]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anxiety, Death Threats, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-12-01 23:23:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20932787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The day was abnormal from the start, and Thomas hated it. Unfortunately, during a meeting, the day is further abnormal when Thomas finds himself held at gunpoint by a mad man. Luckily, Alexander is there to save the day.For Whumptober 2019Prompt No.5 - Gunpoint





	Prompt No.5 - Gunpoint

**Author's Note:**

> This shit belongs to the literal RAY OF SUNSHINE Lin Manuel. Holy shit he is ADORABLE.

In honesty, Thomas wasn’t even remotely thrilled to be at the concurrent meeting because  _ nothing _ started out normal that day. He had woken up later than usual, the hollow of his eyes aching from a deep-rooted headache and, upon turning his head, the weather outside had appeared disgustingly grey and cold. As he had traipsed about his morning, readying himself, his food had not been prepared, his favored dress coat had been torn, and his hair had been unruly. With a sick horse, he had been resolved to walking. He had plucked his good walking cane out of the closet for his journey. He thanked God for its existence: the smooth metal and woods coiled around one another gracefully, tracing up the cane’s neck up to its head, where a sleek ball of glass cooled Thomas’ hand. The material was light but steady, taking much of his weight as he walked, especially so during the blazing months of summer, when Thomas much rather crawl to the courthouses rather than walk on his own two feet in the stifling madness. His trusty stick allowed him to look fashionable to both the untrained and trained eye, allowed him to feel refreshed and fast on his feet, allowed him to grip the head of it as he fantasized smacking Hamilton whenever he toed out of line.

He gripped tighter to his cane at the prospect of  _ Alexander Hamilton _ . Of their soon-to-be meeting.

The bastard brat always picked a fight with him in their normal meetings, and even more so during the cabinet meetings. He reminded Thomas of a yipping dog. His junior was ready to pounce at every syllable that slipped out past Thomas’ mouth, a fiery response kicking up the flames of the delegates and spurring more debate than consensus. He had thought Hamilton mature enough to hold his tongue, but Thomas figured that it must be the manners of an orphan that birthed such uncultured ignominy.

But Thomas loved the fight. He loved the thrill. It was almost routine for him. And call him a masochist, or perhaps a sadist, but he often looked forward to their heated rivalry.

Thomas dipped into the expansive room early, seating himself closest to the door and, if he were lucky, the farthest from Hamilton’s usual seat at Washington’s lap. While he enjoyed the fight, he much preferred to be kept at a distance from the boy’s painfully annoying voice. And with his persistent headache, he thought it best to keep far away.

He settled his cane to his left and leaned back. As the delegates pooled in, Thomas eyed them closely, watching as their bone-stiff coats billowed behind them, practically oozing their egos, listening to the squeak of the tastefully polished shoes as they slip-slided on the hardwood floors. The chatter numbed his senses into an amalgamation of buzzing, his ears barely picking up on the chewed, nonsensical mass of vowels and consonants and words and sentences that rattled around the open room, all sounds ultimately meaning nothing to him.

“Secretary Jefferson,” A scratchy voice irked Thomas back to attention. He glared up at the offender - Charles Lee - with a scowl. The lanky general turned his nose up as he said, “I do hope you extend enthusiasm during this meeting. I have quite a few points I would like to bring forth, and what with you seemingly  _ resting _ , I do not feel confident in your ability to listen contently. I ask that, when it is my turn to speak, you pay attention.”

Thomas smiled smoothly. “Perhaps you’d best check your memory, Lee, for last I recall, I haven’t paid mind to your words for they are equally as important to me as my horse’s flakes.”

Lee snorted. “A vulgar man you are, indeed. Did the French--”

“Have a good morning, mister Lee.” Thomas wagged his fingers at the general. When the man didn’t budge, and merely gawked, Thomas repeated himself with a snappier, “I said, ‘have a good morning’. Now off with you..”

Lee stuttered. “Well, then, good morning,  _ mister  _ Jefferson.” He ducked his head to James, who had just pulled up next to Thomas, and stiffly grumbled, “And to you, mister Madison.”

Madison bowed shallowly. “Mister Lee.” He took his seat.

Lee scampered off to the other delegates that began to pool into the room, their obscene voices only increasing the headache ripping down Thomas’ skull. He rubbed the pads of his fingertips against the sides of his head, massaging deeply and with fervor. God, he longed for Hamilton to show up so he could shut the other men up. Alexander always had that skill: being the center of attention.

James twisted in his chair, eyebrow quirked up in Thomas’ direction. “What as put you in such...strange spirits?”

“My head aches…” Thomas whined low. “But I wish more to argue than to wallow in self pity.”

“I see. That’s quite the enigma.” James gestured to the stick. “I see you have brought your cane as well?”

Thomas spat, “And what of it?”

“You only bring  _ that _ cane when you feel particularly triumphant. Specifically, when regarding Hamilton.”

Thomas could practically picture everything unfolding neatly, just as he wanted: Hamilton sitting at his seat, perched, ready for attack. Washington saying something. Someone else responding. Hamilton opening his mouth. As he does. All is well. But then Thomas saying something. The room going quiet. And with the silence, Alexander arguing and Thomas baiting the boy and the quiet following further and the day alas righting itself to normalcy.

Oh, how he longed for that.

He glanced up apprehensively at Hamilton’s chair.

It was empty.

“Where’s Hamilton…?” Thomas muttered.

Many of the delegates were already seated as the clock approached ten o’clock even. Hamilton was running late. Thomas thought the man always operated on perfection, arriving  _ hours _ early at times to finish his writing in peace away from his nagging wife and slobbering spawn.

But alas, the secretary of the treasury was missing.

Thomas snorted. Pathetic.

Knox barreled in last, snagging Hamilton’s chair, dropping himself down heavily with a grunt. Thomas rolled his eyes at the obscene man.

“If you roll your eyes, you may further the pain in your head.” James grinned at him.

Thomas snapped, “Keep it to yourself, James. Let me spite who I will.”

“Indeed.”

The clock struck ten. Washington rose for his opening speech as the men in the room stiffened to attention. The president opened his mouth, cleared his throat, and held his head high as he began, “Welcome, gentlemen--”

The doors slammed open.

All heads whipped around.

Hamilton, with a heaving chest and glasses crookedly slipping off his nose, stared at the room full of men with wide eyes. Washington’s head tilted with confusion for a moment, before he continued, “Welcome, gentlemen, to yet another meeting. Amongst us are the scholars of America…”

Thomas shoved Washington’s droning to the background, instead amusing himself with Hamilton as the flustered young man whipped around to close the door - gingerly this time around, a wince curling his lips - and slinking to his seat. He stopped hot in his tracks at the sight of the protruding mass of belly fat and cheap liquor settled in his chair, and shrank. Thomas huffed a chortle. James elbowed his side.

Hamilton’s eyes searched the room, glasses still teetering to the side, when his eyes settled on Thomas. Thomas, for a moment, thought Hamilton was going to pick a fight with him. He sat up straighter, heartbeat jumping with excitement. A sleek grin split his lips.

Yes. He had lied to himself. Indeed, he  _ craved _ Alexander’s hostility. It was normal for them. Their routine back-and-forth became a part of Thomas’ daily schedule, it seemed. And Hamilton certainly loved the fight. It was a win-win for them both.

Alexander stepped forward.

Thomas readied his attacks, ready for the moment Hamilton found his seat so they could swat at one another from a safe distance. But then his eyes snagged on what Alexander had been looking at: the empty seat next to Thomas.

The only empty seat left.

“Well then...” Thomas hissed, giddy with adrenaline.  _ Finally _ , the normalcy arrived. James leaned around to ask what had happened, perhaps, but his words never came as they watched Hamilton scurry to the open seat and drop down gracelessly. He failed to acknowledge Thomas and James as he rummaged through his sty-of-a-bag, overflowing with crinkled parchment, ink stains, and bent quills. Thomas watched a piece of bread roll around inside and scoffed, leaning back in his seat with a laugh pursing his lips. When Washington finished his speech and moved to sit, Thomas crooned sarcastically, “Good morning, Hamilton.”

Hamilton glared at him sideways. He ripped off his glasses, nearly taking his tied-back hair with him as he said, curtly, “Jefferson.” He glanced past Thomas and said, “Madison.”

“You look far more unkempt than usual, mister secretary treasury.” Thomas smiled. His heart fluttered with satisfaction as Hamilton’s cheeks darkened. “What is this? A loss for words? That’s quite rare. I shall revel in it, if you don’t mind.”

“I’m not sure you can, mister Jefferson,” Hamilton snorted. “Since your own mouth cannot seem to stop moving. Is it tiring?”

“Quite the contrary: it’s a coping mechanism I use to drown out the sound of your  _ obnoxiously  _ uneducated palaver. Desperate times call for desperate measures, no?” Thomas hissed.

Hamilton shot back, “I see. Rather unfortunate, mister Jefferson, that in your times of distress you must turn to your own egotistical spouting. Have you no better outlets for stress? No, I suppose not. After all, eunuchs must not often get laid?”

“I'll have you know _ \-- _ ! ”

“Secretary Jefferson! Secretary Hamilton!” Thomas turned at the sound of Washington’s voice. Hamilton, with his glasses still in hand and hundreds of papers in the other, appeared equally as flustered. Washington said, “Perhaps you would like to share your... _ conversation _ with the rest of us? Please, do tell, what is of upmost importance, gentlemen?”

Thomas licked his lips. “Well, I--”

Hamilton, at the same time, began, “Your excellency--”

The doors smacked open again. Washington mumbled, “Sweet Jesus” at the second intrusion of the morning. Thomas turned to the chaos, as all other members did, when the shock splashed over him like cold rain water.

The intruder, with a gun raised, trained his weapon right on Thomas.

“Jefferson!” The man closed the gap between them fast, taking two long strides to stand directly over Hamilton and press the barrel of the flintlock to Thomas’ forehead. The icy metal stung deep. Thomas choked around nothing. “Mister Secretary of State! I demand of you: where is my money?”

Thomas sputtered. “What…?” His heart throbbed under his tongue. He wracked his mind for who the bastard was. What money?

“My money! My hard-earned money! Where is it you  _ son of a bitch? _ ” His finger hovered dangerously close to the trigger. “My money! You stole it! You  _ robbed  _ me!”

Hamilton pounced up. “Let us calm down, gentlemen!” He threw his hands up at the sides of his head in surrender, glasses still pinched between his fingers on one hand, papers still a disastrous stack in the other. Knocking the man’s gun arm up in the sudden motion, the man stumbled, hesitated, before ramming the pistol against Hamilton’s temple. Hamilton whispered, “Holy shit…”

Washington, from the corner of Thomas’ eye, moved fast, hand outstretched. “Sir! Please remove that weapon from my secretary’s head!”

“My grievances are with  _ Jefferson _ .” the man spat. “ _ Sit down _ , Washington! Hamilton, you too, or I will spray your insides across this table with  _ God as my witness! _ ”

Hamilton shook his head. Though, with the barrel against the shallow of his skull, to Thomas it looked more as if he were vibrating in place instead. Hamilton babbled on, as he did best, “I cannot do that, good sir! You see, pardoning my vulgarity but, while Jefferson may be a pain in everyone’s ass - especially mine so, good sir - I cannot foresee him following through with what you accuse him of, sir! Please rethink your course of action!”

The assailant’s mouth twisted.

Thomas scooted back. His elbow brushed against his cane.

Washington stepped forward.

“Sit down, Washington!” The man shrieked. He dug the gun down into Alexander’s cheek, pushing his head sideways and craning his neck uncomfortably rightwards. Thomas curled his hand around the head of his cane. His knuckles burned as he squeezed hard. Hamilton’s breath caught, his shoulders stiff. While Thomas couldn’t see his junior’s expression, he suspected it mirrored similarly to Thomas’ own raw shock. “Sit down or I will kill your dear little,  _ filthy _ ,  _ immigrant treasury secretary!  _ For all I know,  _ you _ instigated with him and stole my money as well! I should  _ kill _ you, Hamilton!” The assailant’s wild eyes fixed on Thomas’. “And then  _ you _ are next!”

“I cannot let you do that!” Hamilton’s voice pitched high, strained tight. “You must understand that mister Jefferson would not knowingly steal funds! I believe this to be true--!” His voice snipped short as the man reared back and pistol whipped Hamilton across the jaw. Hamilton snapped sideways. His papers went flying, blinding the assailant. Thomas jumped to his feet and, in one smooth movement, swiped the stick of his cane up and cracked the man across the neck. The wood snapped, splintering around them, as delegates pounced atop the offender, tackling him to the ground.

Hamilton scurried instinctively, back hitting Thomas’ shins in his crazed haze to get away. Alexander whipped around, gaping up at him, a disgustingly black bruise already staining the skin of his jaw. Thomas waggled his eyebrows. “Silent again, eh, Hamilton?” But the words felt wrong. Felt chunky. They didn’t feel like their normal banter.

Alexander slapped his hand to where his jaw blotted dark.

Thomas waited for his sarcastic remark.

Hamilton snapped his mouth shut with a frown.

Thomas felt bitter and cold.

\--

“You need to thank him.” James folded his arms across his chest. He leaned against the hallway wall opposite to Thomas, his eyes dark. “If not for his actions today, you would not be seeing tomorrow.”

“You don’t know that.” Thomas laughed. But it tasted bitter. Wrong. It wasn’t normal. Nothing about the day was normal. “The kid was being reckless, as per usual.”

James said, “That  _ kid  _ is a war veteran. He risked his life for his country. And he risked his life for  _ you _ .” He rubbed his chin wearily. “Besides, not only that, but he stood up for your honor. While we may have later discovered the man had gone mad, Hamilton had no knowledge of this yet he  _ still _ favored your side. That is no small feat, Thomas.”

Thomas dropped his hands to his hips. His fingers shook.. “I don’t normally do this.”

“Then perhaps now is the time to start.” James suggested lamely. The door next to him opened with a squeak, and a doctor stepped out into the hall. James asked, softly, “Is he well?”

The doctor nodded. “Quite so. While the area will be swollen for some time, he will recover fine. No fractures, nor broken bones, could be found during my examination.” He dismissed himself with a deep bow to both James and Thomas before he made his down the nearby staircase.

Soon after, Washington stepped out. “Secretary Jefferson, mister Madison, it is... _ surprising _ to see you two here.”

“Indeed.” James rolled his shoulders smugly. “However, I was just seeing myself out. President Washington, would you like to accompany me?”

Thomas whipped around, ready to strike with a biting remark, when Washington nodded. “Do not mind if I do.” He lead the march down the skinny hallway, towards the stairs, before he turned to Thomas and said, “Oh, and secretary Jefferson, if you would, please refrain from too long a conversation.” Thomas winced. He didn’t have  _ conversations _ with Hamilton. It wasn’t  _ normal _ . Washington continued, “Secretary Hamilton has quite the bruise, and it pains him to speak. So I ask of you, please be courteous of my dear secretary’s wound.” And, with it said, he disappeared down the staircase. James saluted to Thomas mockingly as he, too, slipped down the stairs.

Thomas hovered.

His blasted headache had yet to subside, and without his glorious,  _ perfectly crafted _ walking cane to ease his steps and shallow his pain, he felt weak and wobbly. Or perhaps it were the rush of the day, quickly eating him way. The heavy thrum of anxiety still pounded through his veins, catching in his gut, making him nauseated.

Perhaps Hamilton would understand. Perhaps he would move on, just as Thomas planned to do. He didn’t want to see Alexander, especially not in such a strange state of...disarray. He didn’t want to see him without the ability to fight back. It only fueled the oddities of the day, and the oddities piled, and piled, and piled until Thomas felt strangled by the abnormalities. He wanted everything to be a strange dream. Then, and only then, could Thomas return to his normal.

He turned on his heel.

The door creaked open behind him.

“Jeff’rs’n?”

Thomas inhaled sharply through his nose. He pivoted back around.

Alexander had slipped out into the hallway, his hair loose and much of his dress attire stripped off his scrawny body. He had his glasses back on and a book held in his hand, thumb flush against the inside of its spine, holding his place. The majority of the side of his face was swollen and mad, with his cheek bright red and angry, and his jaw black and purple and blue and puffed out. It  _ did _ look painful.

Thomas swallowed thickly.

He hated the abnormality of it all.

Thomas Jefferson never pitied Alexander Hamilton. But then again, Alexander Hamilton never saved Thomas Jefferson...until now. Until today. Where was the snarky, snipping Alexander? And where, for that matter, were  _ his _ snarky, snippy replies? Where was the  _ normality  _ of it all?

“Hamilton.” Thomas folded his shaking hands behind his back. “I--...Well, Madison, he--...Look...I….”

“Y’re welc’me.” Alexander offered with a raised brow.

Thomas huffed. Silence followed. Alexander shifted on his feet. Thomas bowed his head, finally saying, a bit too loud, “Good.” He nodded stiffly. Quieter, he continued, “Good. Now that it has been said, I...will be retiring for the evening.”

Alexander blinked down at his feet. He nodded, mumbling something unintelligible past the bruised confines of his jaw.

That wasn’t normal.

Thomas faced Hamilton again.

He  _ needed _ the normality.

“Hamilton.”

Alexander turned, eyes wide with interest.

Thomas said, “Take those damn glasses off. You look like a grandmother.”

Hamilton smiled. He swiped them off his face and snapped the book shut. “Takes one t’ know one, Jeff’rs’n.” he slurred.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh...so I read a thing that said basically T Jeff had A N X I E T Y and was likely on the autism spectrum, so I sort of...did this thing? But I decided not to tag for autism because it's not really central to the story per se. It just...is? And besides, it can be read without that knowledge. I just thought that was pretty cool.
> 
> Anyway, one day I'll catch up and post two works. Watch. It'll be like Christmas. Just wait!
> 
> ...Just you wait.
> 
> Just you waaaait.
> 
> Did anyone read that in his voice? MOREOVER, does anyone actually hear the lines in the actors' voices? Because I know I do. And it's trippy. Like I usually have trouble picturing/hearing things in my head when reading, but for LMM Hamilton OBC it's real easy for me. I love that shit.


End file.
